


Five Firsts in Brush Creek, Georgia

by zarabithia



Category: No Man's Land - Tanya Tucker (Song), Original Work
Genre: F/F, Murder as Revenge, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: "The men all tried, but she denied them..."  And that would have been true, even if Barney Dawson hadn't been a bastard.





	Five Firsts in Brush Creek, Georgia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joanne_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/gifts).



> Thank you to Cero for being a great beta.

**I.**

The thing about April in Georgia was that it was never seasonably warm. Quite the contrary, April in Georgia should always be taken to mean "brought the sweat-causing weather of the place where lions hail from and no lamb could ever survive." Molly was trying to be good and concentrate on the algebra book cradled in her lap, but the spring heat wasn't helping her in that regard. Even with the window open, there were no breezes to be found in Molly's bedroom.

Of course, the company wasn't helping matters. Molly's twin bed was not quite large enough for two people. Okay, in truth, it was not big enough for Molly and her dog. If a Jack Russell terrier didn't fit on her bed comfortably on the occasions that she snuck into her room in the middle of the night, then another whole human body certainly wasn't going to. 

But Louisa looked really good over there, even if there was not enough room between them for a solitary pine needle to fit. The _fact_ that Louisa looked so good in her dandelion yellow shorts, however, only added to the reasons why it was so hard to breathe. 

Molly closed the algebra book with one hand and gave a pleased smirk in its general direction as it snapped shut with a loud _bang._ She leaned back onto her pillows, lacing her fingers behind her head as she looked at her current study partner. "Don't look so cross at me, Louisa. It's _Sunday_. We're not supposed to do any work on Sundays." 

"Honestly, Molly. I thought you wanted to be a nurse? How are you going to get through nursing school if you can't handle Algebra I?" Louisa sounded cross at her, but the edges of the algebra book in her lap wavered precariously. Even the book wanted to give in and call it a day. 

"Honestly, _Louisa._ How can you want to do the devil's work on a _Sunday?_ What would Pastor Caldwell say?" 

Louisa gave an indignant snort at that. "Oh, he has a whole lot of things to say about me. None of 'em have anything to do with _algebra_ though." 

Molly didn't have to ask; she went to church as often as Louisa didn't, and she'd heard every one of those prayer circles. Instead of asking, she leaned even closer - so close that she could smell the sweat and hay that both still clung to Louisa hours after completing her chores - and whispered, "Then maybe there are better things we could do on a Sunday to anger the good pastor." 

Louisa couldn't have been terribly surprised at the suggestion, but she did give a startled _"Oh."_ It was the second best sound of the day; the sound of Louisa's algebra book falling to the floor definitely won top prize. 

The sound of Barney Dawson yelling outside her window was definitely the worst, but she ignored it. "He's a jerk," she whispered when Louisa inquired on the distractions coming from the street below. "Just ignore him and he'll go away." 

Louisa hesitated, but only slightly. Molly was glad, because she had been planning on getting to first base with Louisa for _weeks_ and there was no way that Barney Dawson deserved the right to interrupt Molly's first kiss.

* * *

**II.**

Pastor Caldwell's sermon that day was on forgiveness. Molly sat in the front row, and she listened and she fanned herself with a paper fan that had been enthusiastically redecorated by one of the Baker kids. Jesus looked much better with a blue mustache, Molly thought, but those robes looked impossibly warm on a summer day in which Molly was sitting on a wooden pew determined to scorch her butt through her gingham. 

There was a long tear along one side of the fan, and Molly had to hold that side with her finger. It was terribly distracting and inconvenient, which meant that she missed most of Pastor Caldwelll's sermon. It also meant that she ended the sermon with one terrible paper cut along her index finger on the left side of her hand.

Later that afternoon, that same index finger dug into the Georgia clay with all of Molly's might as Barney Dawson forced her to the ground with his hand around her throat and tore the dress that Molly had worked two months at the Dairy Queen to be able to afford. 

She didn't want to cry, but she couldn't seem to help herself. His rough hands were forcing her legs apart and he was too big for Molly to stop him. But she desperately wanted to. No man was supposed to be touching her there. She hadn't even had time to allow Louisa that privilege - 

_They were supposed to have the entire summer to get there._

But although she couldn't stop crying as Barney assaulted her, and she couldn't stop him from forcing himself upon her, she could deny his taunts. 

"Aren't you going to beg me to stop, Pretty Molly?"

She wouldn't. She wouldn't, because all that wanted to come out of her mouth was a howl of rage and fear and she could not give him the satisfication of earning that; he was taking enough from her.

The taunts seemed to last forever and he was still laughing as he left her, lying on the ground, tears still falling silently down her face. 

It hurt to move. It hurt everywhere his hands had touched, but it especially hurt between her legs when she tried to sit up. 

Molly gathered the torn parts of her dress around her as well as she could. She thought briefly of how she could never wear the dress again when it had been such a good Sunday dress. Then she thought of Pastor Caldwell's sermon on _forgiveness._

As Molly wiped her eyes one last time, she swore that she would never forgive Barney Dawson for what he had done. Because that day, Molly had known hate for the first time, and the man that inflicted that upon her did not deserve forgiveness.

* * *

**III.**

The old dirt road running along the edge of Farmer Addison's property was one of many that Brush Creek had to offer, but unlike the others, it wasn't quite as well known as being a hotspot for teenagers to turn to in order to escape the watchful eye of their parents or some other busy body who seemed determined to show up whenever a girl was ready to have some fun, but not when Barney Dawson was ready to have his. 

Anyway, Farmer Addison hadn't ploughed his back 20 in at least five years, so it was a prime make-out spot. On the night before she was going to go to Atlanta to start college, Molly sat next to Louisa as they parked on that old dirt road. 

The air conditioner in Louisa's pick-up was broken, as was to be expected out of a car that was almost as old as Molly was. August in Brush Creek was really not a great time for the air conditioner to break. The jeans that Molly had chosen to wear were already far too hot even when she sat in front of her parents' fan, and they certainly were too much to wear when trapped in a tin can. The oak trees didn't provide any type of shade that mattered. 

Honestly, the jeans were impractical, but Louisa never questioned them - unlike Molly's mother who couldn't keep from making comments that were always some recycled version of "honey, why don't you just put on a dress?" 

Dresses and Pastor Caldwell were Mama's solution to everything, and lately, Molly couldn't stand to be reminded of either one. 

Louisa, who never much liked dresses anyway, looked just as beautiful as she always did in a pair of shorts that were the same shade of blue as the wild blueberries that grew back behind the garden at Grandma Eda's house. The t-shirt was a much lighter shade of blue and it clashed a bit with the light green of the pick-up's interior. 

"God, I wish it would rain soon," Louisa muttered. She wiped at the curls clinging stubbornly to the back of her neck. "Want to go sit in the back?" 

Molly had once had so many plans for Louisa's truck bed, and she hadn't quite gotten to any of them over the summer. But she nodded, because sitting in the cab of the truck and having a heat stroke was not among Molly's list of things to do before going off to college. 

"Good," Louisa said cheerfully. The sound of skin sticking to leather interior accompanied their movements as they got out of the truck, and Molly enjoyed the fresh air while Louisa spread one of those blankets that Mama always wanted them to have in the back of their truck "just in case" the car ever broke down. Like most of Mama's advice, it seemed nice in theory, but didn't have much application to real life. 

Although, the blanket did make a great place to lie down on in the back of the truck bed; that probably wasn't Mama's intention, though. 

The oak trees waved down at them just enough that Molly could almost imagine a breeze. "Aah, that's so much better," she said happily. 

Louisa turned her head to look at Molly. "It is. I'm going to miss you, Molly. I'm happy for you, and you're going to be the best nurse Georgia's ever seen. But I'm gonna miss you." 

"You should come too," Molly said impulsively. "Atlanta's a lot less... backwards than Brush Creek." 

"I don't want to live in Atlanta," Louisa told her. "I'm gonna work at my Grandpa's shop and maybe go to Brush Creek Tech to get my business degree." 

"Why would anyone want to stay here?" Molly said. She tried to keep the anger out of her voice, but she wasn't overly successful. There was plenty to be angry about, she figured. "These people in this town are awful! You can't be yourself without... without someone _ruining_ it!" 

Louisa sat up on her elbow, and Molly did the same because people looking down at her made her stomach churn. 

"Molly. People are awful everywhere," Louisa said. Louisa was not the gentle kind; she was prickly as a crabapple, the ladies at church said. But the tone of her voice did not particularly remind Molly of crabapples at all. For Molly, Louisa was gentle. "I ... I don't know what happened this summer. I know it's bad. I know you want to run away from it. That's not bad. But I like it here." 

Molly took a deep breath. She'd never talked about Barney Dawson. He didn't deserve that. But maybe Louisa did. "Something bad did happen," she said after a moment of staring up at the oak leaves above them. "Barney Dawson happened." 

"I definitely should have run over him in the parking lot at Old Man Fisher's store," Louisa said, and her voice was back to not being kind. But the fury in her voice was aimed elsewhere. Miraculously, it _wasn't for Molly._

"Wouldn't want to scuff up your truck for the bastard," Molly said, equally viciously. "I... I wanted to do so much with you this summer. But I couldn't. That's - that's why." 

Louisa nodded. "You never owed me that," she said. "I still got the pleasure of your company. As the old folks say, I still got to court you properly now, didn't I?" 

Properly, she supposed; if not quite as thoroughly as Molly would have liked. "That you did." 

Louisa laid her head back down on the blanket. "He didn't ruin you, Molly. Don't ever think that." 

Louisa held out her hand, and Molly took it. 

It was the first time Molly'd ever laid in a truck bed with anyone and it was the first time that she'd ever told anyone about Barney Dawson. She gave Louisa's hand a squeeze and was thankful that Louisa was the person that she'd been able to share both with before she had to leave. 

* * *

**IV.**

Louisa had been right of one thing, above all else: people were terrible everywhere. People were even terrible in Atlanta and in nursing school. It was a disappointing lesson to learn, but maybe one that Molly had to learn in order to feel comfortable coming back to Brush Creek for her first Christmas. 

She sat in Grandma Eda's kitchen, carefully kneading the dough that grandma's hands were too riddled with arthritis to handle anymore. Molly knew there were treatments that Grandma Eda could have gotten, but at 85, Grandma Eda liked to put faith in the Lord to help her pain. 

"The Lord isn't helping you make your famous sweet bread," Molly couldn't quite help but argue. 

Grandma Eda looked up from the spot where she mixing the walnut mixture that would go on top of the bread once it came out of the oven. "He sent me you, didn't He?" she asked. "That dough looks too moist. Add another scoop of flour. We're not making a pie here, Molly Anne. If your grandfather can't pile his sweet potato casserole on top of our bread, it's not strong enough." 

"Yes, ma'am." Molly added the water and thought about the Head Nurse in charge of her clinical rotations back at school. She and Grandma Eda would get along just fine, probably. Both could have stepped in and taken the place of any drill master and nobody would have noticed the difference. 

Molly continued to knead the bread as Grandma Eda tasted the walnut mixture and frowned. "Needs more vanilla. You know they raised the price of the good stuff by $2.00? For the little jar they sell in that store." 

"The bottle suddenly made of gold?" Molly asked. Her fingers ached from the kneading and she was glad that she wasn't expected to do this every Sunday, the way her grandmother was. 

"You'd think so! Anyway, I had to switch to imitation vanilla. I'm just glad _my_ grandmother's not around any more to see me using imitation vanilla on her recipe." Grandma Eda leaned over and gave the dough a poke. "Hmm. Go ahead and put it in the pan, Molly Anne. Then wash your hands and sit. You haven't told me any stories about your schoolin'. What's the fun in having a granddaughter livin' in Atlanta if you don't have any good stories to tell the girls at church." 

Molly thought of her classmates as she put the pan that Grandma Eda had liberally buttered. She thought of Margaret, who uttered a new curse every time that she stuck a needle into an orange for injection practice. She thought of Elizabeth, who regularly told delighted (and explicit) tales about exactly what she'd like to do with the handsome doctor of the week. She thought about Joanna, who firmly believed that a little recreational drug use on the weekend was the best stress reliever for the rigors of coursework. She also thought of Mikayla, who argued against the sexist policies of having to wear a skirt to perform their tasks. 

But mostly, Molly thought about Meredith, whose short curly hair tickled every time it brushed against Molly's thigh. 

Molly wasn't so sure that Grandma Eda was ready to hear stories about her adventures in Atlanta. 

But Molly put the bread in the oven, washed her hands, and sat down next to her grandma. She accepted the sweet tea that Grandma Eda offered and sighed in contentment. There were certainly good medical reasons not to put a cup of sugar into two quarts of tea, but that didn't mean that Molly had to _like_ unsweetened tea. 

"So. How is school going?" Grandma Eda asked. "I hear from your mama that your grades are fine. You manage to get any suitors? I don't imagine there's much time for it." 

Molly shook her head. "No... there aren't any men in my life, Grandma Eda." 

"Well, there will be time for that later, I suppose." 

It would be an easy thing to just let go, but maybe the semester away from home made her a bit more contrary than she'd been before she'd left. "Or maybe there won't be. Maybe there won't be men in my life at all." 

Grandma Eda continued to stir the walnut mixture. "Never liked them much myself. 'Course in my day, it was a bit different. Girls married the boys whether they wanted to or not. 'Course Old Rachel never did. Moved to Boston and died a happy old spinster. That ugly mutt of hers is still on our porch, rest her soul." 

Molly didn't quite know what to say to that. "I thought... you and Grandpa... were happy." 

"We make our own happiness, girl," Grandma Eda said. "You might find yours in Atlanta instead of Brush Creek. 'Course, you might also find it down at the Millers' shop. That Louisa girl of yours went down to Savannah to visit her folks and came back with the worst hair cut. But I hear it's all the rage with the youngins these days. Maybe you should judge for yourself." 

"Maybe. But. I mean, I have a girlfriend." 

"And Susie Payton had a boyfriend when she met Alden Thompson, but she still died Susie Thompson," Grandma Eda told her. "Don't waste the youth, Molly Anne." 

It was maybe not the best advice in Molly's opinion. But it was the first time she'd ever told anyone in her family that men were out of the question, and it had gone far better than Molly could have hoped.

* * *

**V.**

The prison was new. It had come to Brush Creek the year before Molly finished school and gained her nursing license. It was a a tiny little place, designed solely to house minimum security offenders in order to ease some of the crowding in the surrounding cities' prisons. Most of citizens of Brush Creek considered it a success, if only because it gave the residents of Brush Creek job opportunities that didn't involve farming, fast food, or following their parents. 

Molly would generally have agreed that having the prison in the area was a good idea. Most days, she even enjoyed the weekly rotations that she spent there as part of the agreement between the prison and Millard's Clinic. It was a nice change of pace from the clinic. Most of the patients had standing orders for treatments, and she rarely had to deal with the egos of doctors or the incompetence of fellow nurses. Most of the conditions weren't that serious, anyway; a few pulled muscles and regular shots to control the patients' various long term conditions. 

It was a good job and it afforded her a nice house, just two blocks away from Grandma Eda and four blocks away from Louisa's shop. Molly was thankful for it, most days. 

But on this morning as she held the clipboard in her hand and stared at the name of the patient she was supposed to treat, her thankfulness was not to be found. Barney Dawson's name was scribbled across the top. 

On a daily basis, Molly tried not to think about Barney Dawson. Most of time, she was successful. Men as a group were still able to make her think of him, even well-meaning ones who held the door open or smiled at her while having the completely otherwise innocent attributes of being too tall or having blue eyes.

But she had a life, and he wasn't allowed to be part of it. She'd made sure of that. 

Yet here he was, sitting on a table, clutching his chest in pain. He was different from how Molly remembered him. He looked feverish and the tall, imposing bastard who had assaulted her was more a shell of a man. He deserved it, but it wasn't at all the entirety of the fate he deserved. 

"Old Barney Dawson," Chet muttered beside her as Molly willed her hands not to shake. "Always a grade A bastard. Used to hang around the high school, you know. Long after he graduated." 

Oh, Molly _knew_.

"Is that what he's in for?" Molly asked. Chet wasn't supposed to tell her, of course. But Chet was a good ol' boy who used to show her his live bug collection every day after church, up until the day Molly stopped going. Chet's eyes were the same dark brown that Molly had always preferred. She almost would have called him decent, if she was capable of believing that of men. 

"Nah," Chet said. "They never could get him, you know, on account of him being Pastor Caldwell's grandson and all." 

Yes, Molly knew all about that, too. 

"What did him in, then?" 

Chet shook his head. "Dumb bastard got mad at an ex and stole her tv. It was one of those fancy ones, you know? Two hundred bucks over the felony theft limit." 

"Surprised the judge cared," Molly whispered viciously. 

"Dawson's ex was the daughter of a fellow judge," Chet said simply, as if it explained everything, because it did. "Pity he'll probably get parole in the next year. Back to being a menace. Let me know if you need any help, alright? I'll be happy to come in there and shoot him for ya." 

Molly would have been happy with that, too, she thought. But she would have been even happier Chet had showed up to do so two decades ago. 

"I'll be fine," she said, even though she wished for the first time that the little examination rooms in Brush Creek's prisons were as up to date as the ones in the bigger cities. Unfortunately, the prison in Brush Creek was as backwards as everything else about the little town, and that meant to cameras or emergency panic button. All that guaranteed Molly's safety were glass doors and windows that Chet could watch through.

Inside the room where Dawson was lying on the bed, Dawson wiped at his forehead. Molly looked down at the chart and thought of Dawson's particular brand of being a menace. It had been twenty years, but she could feel phantom pains along her fingers, where she had dug into the clay out of pain and terror.

When she walked into the examination room, Barney Dawson looked relieved at first. It was understandable. She didn't look anything like that teenager she'd been years ago. The hair was different and the dark blue scrubs weren't anything like the pale green gingham dress Barney Dawson had ruined. 

"Great to see you, nurse. Ya know, I think I need one of them what do you call them, potassium shots? My doc used to give them to me real regular. I apparently pee too much for the old heart to handle." 

"Mmm." It was actually due to the medications that Dawson was on, of course, that made the urination frequent. But Molly had no doubt that Dawson's doctor had explained that to him multiple times already. 

There was no explaining _logic_ or reason to simple minded animals, after all. 

And that was what Barney Dawson was - a rabid dog that threatened harm to the innocent. There was only one way to deal with his kind. 

"Lay on back, Mr. Dawson," Molly said, keeping her voice calm and professional. "I'll get your shot ready for you." 

Chet stood outside the door, watching. Patient privacy took precedence, unless there was reason to suspect that the patient might be violent. Molly was the only one who suspected enough to care. Unfortunately for Barney Dawson, Chet was a kind good ol' boy, but not a nurse. 

So he had no way of knowing that potassium chloride shouldn't take that long to administer. He had no way of knowing that Molly was giving too much. He had no way of knowing that adding a zero to the end of the prescribed dose would give Barney Dawson the fate he had earned twenty years ago.

Barney Dawson didn't either. In fact, he had no idea anything was wrong at all, until it was too late. 

"Nurse?" he said. "I think... I think the shot didn't work. I ... I can't breathe." 

Yes, Molly thought. Shalllow breathing was a sure sign of potassium chloride poisoning. She made sure the supplies were put away and the needle disposed of properly before she turned back to the suffering shell of a man who had once hurt her so badly.

"I imagine it's quite difficult for you," she said. "Almost as though someone has their hand around your throat, isn't it?" 

She looked at him directly then, and perhaps it was because he shared the memory... or maybe it was something in her voice. Maybe it was the hatred in her eyes that she was sure reflected back at him when he turned to see her face. Whatever it was, he recognized her then. 

He gasped; it was a painful, short wheezing sound. "M-Molly?" 

"Are you arms and legs heavy yet? As though someone is holding them down against your will?" 

His eyes widened and he struggled to sit up. "Please. Please. Do something." 

"I already did," Molly said. "To pay you back, for what you already did." 

It was important than he know that. 

It was also important that she stood there and deny his pleas, watching tears fill his eyes as he struggled in vain to move. It was important that she watched as his heart slowed and eventually gave out. 

She did perform the proper attempts to bring him back, but the overdose ensured that they didn't work.

"Poor bastard," Chet said when she exited the room. "Heart gave out?" 

"Yes," Molly said, because that was true enough. "I have to chart it. You go tell your bosses while I call the doctor." 

Chet nodded and Molly went to work. It wasn't the first time she'd ever lost a patient as a nurse, but it was the first - and last - time she'd ever killed one. 

Glancing at her watch, Molly thought regretfully that she might miss lunch with Louisa today in order to fill out all of the paperwork. 

But that was okay. Today would belong to Barney Dawson, but tomorrow would belong to them.


End file.
